


Prince Of Camelot: Choice And Destiny

by tielan



Series: The Jewels Of Albion [1]
Category: Black Jewels - Anne Bishop, Merlin (BBC)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Black Jewels Fusion, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Black Jewels Fusion, Drama, Gen, Merlin AU: Black Jewels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-22
Updated: 2010-06-22
Packaged: 2017-10-10 05:38:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/96186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tielan/pseuds/tielan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Camelot Territory has had no Queen since Igraine died in a power struggle between her husband, Prince Uther, and the Black Widow Priestess Nimueh. For twenty years, a male council has ruled the Territory, led by Prince Uther, unwilling to trust any witch with a claim to power.</p><p>Yet a new generation is coming to maturity - among them, Uther's son, the Warlord Prince Arthur. And with the arrival of a young man from one of the outlying villages, a young Queen is about to come into power in Camelot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prince Of Camelot: Choice And Destiny

_My dear Gaius,_

_I turn to you for I feel lost and alone and do not know whom to trust._

_It is every mother’s fate to think that her child is special; and yet I would give my life if this were not so._

_Our village is a small one, and Merlin is so clearly different to the Blood here that if he were to remain, I fear what might become of him. The Black Widow in the next valley has said it is time for him to leave - that he must seek out the Queen he will serve, discover the reason for his strength._

_I beg of you, if you understand a mother’s love for her son, keep him safe._

_May the Darkness enfold you both._

_Hunith._

_*-*-*-*_

The courtyard of the castle was empty today, but the bloodied stone of the execution block remained stark and black in the centre of the paved space.

Even walking through the courtyard, Merlin felt sick. This close, he could feel the terror and anguish that permeated the stone of the block, the psychic residue of a hundred executions dripped and dried into its pitted surface with the blood of those who'd died on its cold surface.

_Blood is a river of memory, Merlin,_ said the Black Widows inside his head. _It is our Blood that makes us who we are, that links us together in the Darkness from which we all come. _

This wasn't what Merlin had expected when he started out for Camelot city, the heart of Camelot Territory.

It wasn't what he'd left Ealdor to find.

He turned away from the execution block with its lingering psychic scents, and hurried out towards the gates of the castle with errands to run and a town to see.

Out in the streets of the city, Merlin felt a little less nauseous.

The bright sun shining across the grassy public spaces helped, as did the hustle and bustle of the town going about their business. Few people glanced at him as he moved through the streets of the city, a stranger face in a stranger town, and Merlin found himself relieved for the lack of scrutiny.

Ealdor, much as he loved it, had grown small and confining. It was almost a relief to be where no-one cared what he was, who he was.

In Ealdor, there had been Will.

A loud squawking turned his head, a pen of chickens fluttering and flapping in anticipation of their breakfast. Close by, other animals were being delivered their feed - a sow and her piglets snuffling happily through the scraps.

Merlin paused as a little girl - perhaps six or seven years old - lugged a full bucket that her arms strained to hold off the ground. But even as he started across the street, a young boy hurried up and took the bucket out of her hands.

She snatched futilely for the handle. "I had that! You give my bucket back!”

"No."

Her eyes narrowed, and the tiny chin lifted, an imperious little Queen. "I order you to give it back!"

The boy stiffened, pride and temper clear in his undisguised psychic scent. "No! I'll hold it. You can still feed them while I hold the bucket."

"I can hold it myself!"

"But you don’t need to!" There was a stubborn set to his jaw and a possessive light in his expression that Merlin recognised, even at the boy's tender age. "Just feed them, Ailile!”

She scowled at him a moment longer, then took handful of the seedlings and threw it out the chickens who clucked and squawked their way to breakfast. Merlin moved on without a word to either child, unnoticed, smiling to himself at the exchange between them.

The children were young, but already their behaviours were indicative of their roles according to the Old Ways of the Blood - the male in service to the female, his strength given to protect and assist her. In return, her strength and her link with the land would anchor him, give him a focus for his service and his need to be emotionally grounded by a Queen.

One more thing Merlin hadn’t expected when he reached Camelot.

Oh, everyone knew that Camelot Territory had no Queen, that Prince Uther had ruled since his wife’s death, but Merlin had imagined that that was just temporary. It wasn't until yesterday's execution that Merlin had realised Prince Uther had ruled Camelot Territory without a Queen for twenty years.

He glanced up at the tavern sign, the chiselled wood showing two disembodied arms in a cross shape - The Crossed Arms. Just past it, he turned down a laneway, and counted four small shops before he saw the small wooden sign that showed a round-bottomed flask tipped on its side - the apothecary.

"You're Gaius' new boy, then?" The grizzled man regarded Merlin with some interest as he measured out the rare dried herbs that Gaius needed for some poultice medicines. "Staying up at the castle?”

The man was conversational and talkative. Merlin answered questions and questions and more questions, and asked a few of his own about the city and where to find the other places he needed to go for Gaius’ errands. He also felt the man watching him - not suspiciously, or with ill-intent, just observing him.

“Did you see the execution yesterday?"

"Yes." Merlin didn't offer anything more than that, still disturbed by the memory of Blood. He reached for the bottle the apothecary was holding out, then paused as the man drew it back.

"You're new here, and Gaius mentioned you were coming from out of Camelot, so I imagine things work differently where you come from."

He frowned a little, surprised by the change in topic. "Things always work a little differently from Territory to Territory."

"Right. So here's some advice about Camelot Territory. If you value your life, your Jewels, or your balls, don't let anyone see how those executions disturbed you."

He blinked at the bluntness of the statement. And took a harder look at the apothecary. The man was maybe in his forties, weathered and sturdy, light-Jewelled and without caste, but possessing the solid psychic scent of a mature male.

"Why are you telling me this?" Merlin was more than a little puzzled; even Gaius hadn't been quite so forthright while telling Merlin about Camelot last night.

A glint of humour lightened the man's eyes. "You think I'm just a meddling old man, talking about stuff he don't know. But I'm looking at a dark-Jewelled Prince - I can tell that much - and one who's served with the Hourglass Coven."

"How did you--?" Too late, Merlin realised that if the man hadn't known about him before, he certainly did now.

"Like recognises like, boy. It's all very well for Gaius, up in the castle with Prince Uther's ear. He'll have warned you about letting anyone know you served with the Hourglass; but I'm telling you now. You'd better hide better than you have been, or there'll be someone'll turn you in."

Merlin grimaced. "I didn't come to Camelot to hide what I am."

The apothecary looked at him for a long hard moment, then offered him the withheld bottle. "I know a Prince of your strength is looking for one thing: a Queen to serve. You won't find one if Uther finds out he's got an Hourglass male sitting right under his nose; you’ll be exiled at best, dead at worst. So I'm telling you to be careful. What you do with that is up to you."

A warning - and advice. Merlin hesitated before reaching for the bottle. "Thank you." He vanished the vial with the rest of his purchases, nodded at the apothecary and stepped out into the midday sun.

Gaius had guessed Merlin had trained with the Hourglass coven and warned him against using anything that possessed the flavour of the Black Widows' craft. But he hadn't known the way the apothecary had.

He hadn't been trained like Merlin.

While only females were born to the Black Widow caste, males could be trained in most of their skills - dream webs, tangled webs, visions, and potions. There were degrees of service to the Hourglass, from simply participating in their festal nights to the kind of training Merlin had received - full training and instruction in the Widows arts.

Rare enough to find a witch of the Black Widow’s caste; rarer still to find one of those fully trained in the Hourglass craft.

So far as the Widow Viviane knew, Merlin was the only male in the realm of Albion to be fully trained by the Hourglass coven.

She'd never told him why.

As he looked around the town and ran Gaius' errands, the questions rose in him again.

Why train him so thoroughly in arts that were usually limited to the distaff gender? Why send him away from Ealdor now, just as the spring thawed the land and the planting began, when they needed every hand in the field? Why send him to Camelot, where no queen had ruled for as long as Merlin had lived, and where a man could be executed for serving the Hourglass, never mind knowing the Coven’s greatest secrets?

Why him? Why now? Why here?

Merlin had no answers as he went about his business.

He was on his way back up to the castle, dreading walking past the execution stone with its bloody echoes, when the young man stumbled into his path, sprawling at his feet.

"Sorry--"

Merlin reached down and help pull the man up. "Everything all ri--?" He broke off as something poked him under the chin, jabbing deep into the soft flesh.

The young aristo at the other end of the stick regarded Merlin the way other men might have regarded a fly - something to be swatted if he grew too annoying. Blond hair and a fighter's build barely registered on Merlin in the face of the sharp edge of a Warlord Prince's psychic scent.

Warlord Princes were the highest male caste of the Blood, with only the Queens ranking higher. They tended to be aggressive, protective males, with a capability for great passion - and equally great violence when that passion was aroused without the leash of a Queen. Everyone trod carefully around a Warlord Prince, whatever Jewel he wore.

In the open collar of this Warlord Prince's shirt, a Purple Dusk Jewel gleamed.

Not a dark Jewel - certainly not compared to Merlin's Ebon-Grey - but not a Jewel to be dismissed when wielded by a young man who’d clearly been trained as a warrior - even if he was just roistering about on the town.

"He's fine," said the Warlord Prince, managing to sound both pleasant and predatory all at once.

Merlin kept his expression pleasant and open, his hands out to the sides, presenting no physical threat, even as he made a swift descent to the Ebon-Grey and said in his mildest voice, "I'd like to hear it from him if you don't mind."

The rounded end of the stick pushed against his adam's apple. "And if I do mind?"

He wore the Ebon-Grey. If he had to, he could take the Purple Dusk easily - even a Purple Dusk-Jewelled Warlord Prince. If he had to.

He wouldn’t unless there was no alternative.

"I'd still like to hear it from him."

At the end of the staff, blue eyes gleamed with something that was almost respect. “Fine,” said the Warlord Prince. “Is there a problem, Markus?”

His eyes never left Merlin’s face as the youth answered, “N-n-no, my Lord.”

“See?” The smile that hovered on the Warlord Prince’s mouth was taunting. “From the horse’s mouth. Although he’s considerably less useful than a horse.”

Merlin looked back at the other male. The youth’s words said one thing, but his psychic scent said another. There was annoyance there, and a little fear, weariness, as though this was something that had happened before, wearing him down like a familiar groove in the road.

“Markus?” Quite deliberately, he turned his back on the Warlord Prince, a studied insult that he hoped would make his point. He looked across at the other man, held his gaze with the power Viviane had taught him. “Are you all right?”

His left arm was caught in a bruising grip. “You’ve heard his answer. What else do you want?”

“The truth.” Merlin didn’t turn, letting his gaze rest on Markus.

“I will be,” said the youth after a moment, and something in him seemed to soften, and at the same time, stand up tall. “Thank you.”

Merlin smiled - a smile that only lasted a moment as the infuriated Warlord Prince hauled him around. Temper slashed the air between them. “Who do you think you are?”

“Merlin Emrys.” He held out his free hand. “I won’t say it’s a pleasure to meet you, because it’s no--”

He was on his knees on the ground, his arm twisted around behind his back with a wrench that was just on the verge of pain. More worrying was the simmer of anger he could feel in the air - a Warlord Prince on the edge of temper, ready to move to the killing edge. “You’re either very stupid or very bold, and I can’t quite work out which.”

Merlin gritted his teeth. Conventional wisdom was that when a Warlord Prince got angry, other males backed away rather than start a bloodbath. Usually, he'd have followed this advice - doing otherwise might get him killed. But something was pricking at him - a need to respond, to retaliate, however possible. “Why not both?”

“Why not both?” Temper eased back and the Warlord Prince gave a shout of laughter, even if his grip didn’t abate. “All right, you’re bold, I’ll give you that. New in town?”

“Maybe.”

“Well, _maybe_ you should have paid a little more attention when you first arrived. See, this is _my_ town.”

“And here I thought Prince Uther ruled it.”

Merlin hissed as the Warlord Prince pressed his arm just that little bit further and rivulets of pain tingled through his muscles.

“And I’m his son, Arthur. Remember the name, because it’s going to ring in your ears for a long while after I’ve finished with you--”

“Which we hope will be soon, because you’re blocking the road, _Prince_.” The new voice lilted, the accent caressing the ear like soft fingertips lingering over skin.

In spite of the pressure it put on his already taxed shoulder, Merlin glanced up to see what kind of a witch would interrupt this Warlord Prince in that tone of voice - and froze.

His heart pounded in his chest, slamming against his ribcage like thunder in his ears.

A Black Widow, pale-skinned and dark-haired, her Opal Jewel strung on a delicate chain around her throat, her eyes like pale green malachite - and just as hard. Standing in her fine robes in the middle of the street, and surveying the tableau like they were performers out for her entertainment.

But the Black Widow wasn’t the reason Merlin couldn’t breathe.

Just behind and beyond her, a young witch stood staring at him. Dark eyes, dark hair, dark skin, a simple overdress of red and an underdress of undyed linen - these things registered only dimly in Merlin’s mind. What he sensed - what he felt as he looked up at her - was the unmistakeable tug of a bond.

This servant girl, no older than Merlin, was a Queen.

Males served; it was a core tenet of the Blood. The need was most evident in Warlord Princes, who required a Queen to keep them emotionally grounded, although an personal, intimate relationship with a female might substitute. But every male - whether he belonged to a caste or not - yearned to serve. _It's something that's been bred into us for so many generations,_ Harald had told Merlin and Will by the firelight. _We're not whole without a Queen to serve._

But service to a Queen wasn't the same as service to a man's own Queen - the Queen that the inner soul recognised and longed to serve.

And Merlin's Queen stood in servant's garb less than five yards away, looking at him as though she'd never seen a Prince before.

“Morgana.” The Warlord Prince sounded halfway between pleased and annoyed, and the pressure on Merlin’s arm let up a little. “What are you doing out?”

"Shopping in town," she said. "What are _you_ doing?"

"Disciplining this fool."

"For what?" The Black Widow tilted her head, her green eyes gleaming with mischief. "The poor boy looks harmless."

_Poor boy? Harmless?_ Merlin gritted his teeth, his pride stung. He was an adult male, in his majority, even if he didn’t look it! But his Queen shifted, shaking her head ever so slightly, and Merlin closed his lips around his protest.

"Because he's an idiot."

"I'm sure he thinks the same of you, Arthur. Don't you?"

Merlin managed a wry smile. "It's not really a fair question, my Lady. I've got the choice of agreeing with you or losing my arm."

"Oh, Mother Night, Arthur. Let the boy up!" Lady Morgana crossed the street to tug at the Warlord Prince's arm. Not that she could have done anything if Arthur hadn’t been willing to let her. Merlin allowed himself a breath of relief as the man stepped back, although the expression beneath the gold cap of hair was sulky, like a thwarted child.

Merlin eased himself to his feet and bowed as gracefully as he could manage around his aching arm. “Thank you, my Lady.”

She nodded once, briefly, before her eyes flickered to her maidservant.

It took all Merlin’s self-control not to turn and follow her gaze. The expression on Arthur’s face suggested the man was just biding his time for retaliation.

The first law of a Blood male was to serve and protect, whatever the cost.

Merlin wasn't going to make his Queen a possible target if the bully decided he wanted revenge.

Luckily, it seemed the Black Widow was intent on getting the Warlord Prince's attention. She laid a hand on his arm. “Now, Arthur. I need an escort up to the castle.”

“Why? You came down without one.”

Morgana rolled her eyes. “Lord Leon accompanied me, but was called away by the guards down at the gate.” She pouted, ever so slightly.

In spite of Merlin's distraction - his Queen was standing behind him, almost within arm’s length and he couldn't take a good look at her - he couldn’t help but admire the pout as a tactic. Even if Arthur didn’t seem entirely convinced that the young Widow needed an escort, the other males with him seemed more than willing to offer themselves.

“Lady Morgana,” said one of them - a solidly-built male who flaunted a Summer-Sky Jewel and a fine velvet tunic, “if Prince Arthur is unwilling, then I would be quite happy to escort--”

“Excuse me. _I’m_ the one Morgana asked to escort her up to the castle!”

"Assuming Prince Arthur is willing," Lady Morgana said apologetically to the Summer-Sky male, "I'd have to refuse this time, Kelan, although your company would be more than welcome..."

Merlin had begun to ease himself back into the crowd, the better to not be noticed as the aristos took their leave. A sudden awareness stopped his retreat.

He turned and looked into warm brown eyes. “How's your arm?”

“What? Oh, it’s fine. Quite okay.” He moved it without thinking, and grimaced as a flash of pain speared across his collarbone.

“Maybe not quite as okay as you thought?” Her brows arched. “May I?”

Merlin dropped his arms to his side, giving her access to the injured limb. “Sure.”

“I’m Guinevere, by the way. But everybody calls me Gwen.” Her hands were strong and sure as they carefully felt their way across his shoulder, checking the joints and muscles with practised ease.

“I’m Merlin.” He started to offer his hand, then realise she wouldn’t be able to shake it anyway. “Are you a Healer, too?”

Gwen’s gaze dropped for a moment, one hand pressing gently on his chest while the other moved his arm, testing the mobility of the shoulder. “Too?”

Merlin began to speak and hesitated. Now that he was close to her, he should feel her psychic scent - her Jewel strength, her caste, her emotions.

Nothing.

A Queen’s psychic scent should have been distinctive - a rich, fresh scent, like moist earth, newly-turned, the first shoots of the crops peeping up through the ground. But right now, if not for what he'd sensed before, the connection he’d felt, Merlin wouldn’t have said Gwen was a Queen at all.

What was going on?

“Something wrong?” Gwen asked, and Merlin realised he was staring at her.

He jerked in surprise, then glanced down at his arm in surprise - the ache was gone. “What did you do?”

“Numbed it a little. It’s bruised, but nothing’s torn. If he’d continued...” A flash of something like anger crossed her face, and _there_ was the scent Merlin was expecting - a Queen’s protectiveness and anger. “Arthur’s a bully. Lots of people think so. It was brave of you to stand up to him.”

Merlin didn’t know what to say to that - he hadn’t known he was standing up to a bully, he’d just intervened the way he thought he should. But demurral seemed over-modest, and her psychic scent was confusing him. Was she a Queen or not? He blurted out the first thing that came into his head. “My life is in your service.”

Formal words - the words of commitment spoken by a male when he intended to give his life to a Queen’s service.

Gwen's eyes flew to his face. If she could have gone pale beneath her colouring, she would have. As it was, she looked like someone had just stabbed her through the heart. “What? How do you--?”

“Lady Gwen?”

Merlin turned, emotion rising in him like a frown as he confronted the interloper.

Male. Warlord. Opal-Jewelled. Maybe in his late twenties, tow-headed and bearded. Standing a few feet away, with an expression of polite inquiry. But all Merlin felt was a male who’d intruded on his time with his new-found Queen, and something in him resented that. A swirl of dark-Jewelled power unfurled within him, ready to strike.

Fingertips brushed across his forearm, like drawing lightning down from the sky. Gwen smiled at the newcomer. “Lord Leon? I’m afraid the Lady Morgana’s already gone back up to the castle.”

He looked from Gwen to Merlin and then back to Gwen again. “Alone?”

“Prince Arthur and his friends escorted her up.” Gwen smiled, and this time it was warm reassurance. “I was a little delayed - this young man needed instructions on how to find the smithy...”

Her expression was polite and earnest as she turned towards Merlin - and held a warning.

Merlin reined in his temper. This man wasn’t a threat; he was just being polite. Gwen knew him. There was absolutely no reason for him to be so edgy...

Except that Gwen was his Queen - _his_ Queen. And although nothing had been said, he was now in her service - his strength for her use, his life under her command.

Her eyes watched him now, trusting him to follow her lead.

She was his Queen. Where she led, he would follow. He had to.

“Uh, yes. I’m just on my way there - an errand for Gaius. The court physician. Thank you very much for the...the instructions, Lady. I’ll just be on my way, then.” He pointed behind him, back the way he’d come before he’d stumbled into the group of aristos making sport of a servant. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Gwen. I’ll just...”

He turned on his heel, took a half-dozen steps down the road and spun around when he heard his name. “Merlin?”

“Yes, my Lady?”

“The smithy’s that way.” Gwen pointed in the opposite direction to the way he’d been going. Merlin shot her a sheepish grin.

“New town, my sense of direction’s all askew... Thank you. Again.”

“You’re welcome.”

Merlin started off in the direction Gwen had indicated, but paused at the corner to look back.

The Warlord had offered her his arm as was appropriate for an escort. From the earnest set of his features, it seemed he was quite sincere about escorting her as though she were an aristo lady and not a servant girl. But her brows were raised, and her lips quirked in amusement as she regarded his hand, shook her head, and started up the street without taking it. Independent. Caring.

In spite of the brief flare of annoyance Merlin felt at her refusal to accept the courtesy, a smile teased his mouth as he headed back into the town to finish off Gaius’ errands.

But when he got back to the castle, he’d have a lot of questions to ask the old physician.

*-*-*-*

“Did you know that there’s a Queen in Camelot?”

He asked the question as he called in and lid out the parcels he’d bought that morning, watching Gaius’ face through the steam of the bubbling concoction on the brazier.

Blue eyes flickered up, then dropped back down to the medicine. A teaspoon of ground-up seed was sprinkled in and the rest folded up in a twist of parchment. “Yes. I take it you met the Lady Morgana and her maidservant down in the town.”

“And Prince Uther’s son, Arthur.”

“Should I ask, or am I better off not knowing?”

“They were picking on a young man down in the square. I stepped in.” And nearly got beaten up for his pains. “And the Lady Morgana intervened when they started getting playful with me.”

Gaius’ sigh gusted through the room. “Didn’t I tell you to keep out of trouble?”

“You told me not to use the Widow’s Craft in Camelot.”

“I meant for you to not draw attention to yourself!” Gaius turned back to his mortar and pestle again, and ground up dried herbs for something else he was putting together. “Not to come to the notice of Prince Arthur the first opportunity you had!”

“Was I supposed to let them just continue bullying him?”

“If it meant keeping yourself out of sight, yes!”

“If I’d kept out of sight, I wouldn’t have met Gwen.”

There was a lot he didn’t yet understand about Camelot. Ealdor was a small village, farmers and tradespeople, with no aristo families and a half-dozen caste Bloods. Camelot was a large town, with not only higher-caste Bloods, but aristo families, and a Prince whose wife had once ruled the entire Territory of Camelot.

“Why is she a servant? I mean, maybe she’s not aristo, but shouldn’t she be...being trained up to be the next Queen?”

Gaius sprinkled a few round seeds into his mortar and crunched them up beneath the heavy pestle. “That is not a question I would ask anywhere other than in this room, Merlin.”

“So...Uther doesn’t want a Queen in Camelot?” It seemed ridiculous - impossible. Blood society was centred around the Queens. They provided the grounding and focus for Blood males' need to be in balance with a female, and gave all the Blood a connection to the land that ensured it would be fruitful and verdant. “Why hasn’t anyone--”

Then he stopped.

Until now, it hadn’t occurred to him that Gaius had known about Gwen. He’d known there was a Queen in Camelot and done nothing to raise her up.

Blue eyes flickered up to his face, then drifted back down to the pestle in his hand. “I suppose you’re wondering why I haven’t done anything.”

“No,” Merlin lied, then extemporised. “Not exactly.”

“Things are more complex in Camelot than they are in Ealdor, Merlin. Uther has been in power for nearly twenty years. A man who’s ruled for that long isn’t going to give up power easily.”

Merlin wasn’t sure he should ask, but the question pressed on him. “Is that why Uther held the purges?”

Gaius hesitated. “The arts of the Black Widows - when incorrectly used - _are_ dangerous, Merlin. That’s why they’re taught under controlled conditions, and only to those who need to be taught them.”

Merlin wondered why _he'd_ needed to be taught the Black Widow's arts.

“I walked past the execution stone this morning.”

The grimace on the other man’s face told him a lot. “Ah.”

“Do you feel it when you walk past? All that death seeped into the rock?” _How many people have died there? How much Blood has left its mark there?_

“Was it there when you returned?”

“No. They’d taken it away.” Darkness only knew how - they’d need landens to move the stone, surely. No Blood would touch it unless they were heavily shielded, and even then...

“Uther’s rule hasn’t been perfect, Merlin, but it’s been mostly peaceful. He spoke the truth earlier today when he said that this Territory was troubled and difficult before he came here. Camelot has enjoyed twenty years of peace under his rule. That shouldn’t be dismissed.”

“Maybe not dismissed. But Camelot needs a Queen, sooner or later.”

“Have you yet considered that Gwen may not want to be that Queen?”

“Has anyone ever asked her?” Merlin retorted. “I don’t get the feeling that anyone’s ever seen her as much more than a servant.”

"And have you considered that it protects her?" Gaius asked. "Merlin, in other places, it might be that the interaction among the Blood depends on caste and Jewel strength as well as social standing. Under Prince Uther, Camelot has shifted to emphasise the importance of social standing.”

“Because the Pendragons are socially powerful.”

“Perhaps. And perhaps because he fears letting power out of his hands. For the most part, Uther has been a good Prince to Camelot. He’s kept the peace, seen to it that the land receives the care it needs...”

“But he’s not a Queen.”

That was the core of Merlin’s discontent. Queens ruled the Blood - that was what they did. For a Prince to keep ruling when there was a Queen capable of ruling...

“Are you so sure Gwen is?”

A sharp retort was on Merlin’s lips - _of course she is!_ Then he stopped, and thought of the way Gwen’s psychic scent had vanished.

“She’s my Queen,” he said, simply. A statement of loyalty and service.

It shivered through him then, like the cool autumn winds sweeping down from the northern reaches. He’d never really thought about it before - he’d never had to. Not just that he had a Queen to serve now, but that he had a Queen who would now rule his life - every aspect if he gave himself over to her rule.

He could resist, of course - but from what Harald had told him, it would be difficult, even painful.

_My life is your service_. The traditional words of surrender for a male to the Queen he served.

Darkness help him if the Queen he’d surrendered his service and honour to wasn’t a good Queen.

But Gwen was, wasn't she?

*-*-*-*

After running errands for Gaius through the castle all morning, avoiding being roped into cleaning out the great hall for the dinner the next night, and determined to get at least a little time to get to know the Queen who now influenced his life, Merlin headed for the kitchens.

With the arrival of the famous Camelot singer, Lady Helen, that night and the planned feast for Prince Uther’s celebrations tomorrow, the kitchens were even busier than the great hall. Still, in the midst of the clash of pots and pans, the spit and sizzle of the baking, and the noise of cook-knives chopping their way through a mountain of vegetables, more than one male paused to stare at Merlin as he made his way through the kitchen.

Merlin didn’t let their gazes disturb him as he identified the household steward and introduced himself. “I’m Merlin, Gaius’ new assistant. He said I had something to deliver to the Lady Morgana, and it would be best to find her maidservant...”

He paused as he felt the tenor of the room shift about his words.

It was obvious that there were people listening in to his conversation with the steward. It was also equally obvious that the workers in the kitchen were curious about him. They’d be able to sense that from his psychic scent that he was a Prince, but his clothing was a servant’s, and he’d just brought down a tray of dirty dishes from Sir Eldwyn’s chambers...

Over and above the scents of the cooking food, warm bread, roasting meat, and soft herbs, Merlin felt the psychic scents in the room shift. It wasn’t temper - not the sharp edge of danger that he might have felt if any of the men had been Warlord Princes or Warlords, but it was wariness - a subtle protectiveness around the young woman that was one of them and yet so very much not.

_They recognise what she is, too._

And until they were sure of him...

“Gwen’s out in the gardens,” said an older woman as she a huge metal dish from the tub of hot water where she’d been scrubbing it. Hazel eyes regarded Merlin with a steady gaze. “She’s usually out there this time of day. Has the hour free before Lady Morgana decides what she’s going to be doing in the afternoon.”

Merlin smiled. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome, Prince.”

Outside, the morning sky was bright, a light breeze chasing soft clouds across the clear blue arch of the heavens. Merlin paused to take a breath, the familiar aromas of animals and growing things thick on the air, and felt briefly homesick.

Perhaps he was an Ebon-Grey Jewelled Prince, but Merlin was also just a village man.

The gardens seemed unusually quiet for this hour - he'd have thought there'd be servants harvesting and tending to the plants right now - part of their duties of care for the gardens and the evening meals. Yet all Merlin saw were one or two workers shovelling out the animal pens out beyond the garden beds - the heavy scent of shit kept far from the kitchens and the palace.

And he saw the way they turned to look at him as he looked out through the gardens - judging whether he presented a threat to their Queen. It was in the way they handled their shovels, the way the man forking hay from a nearby wagon turned to regard Merlin with his pitchfork in his hand.

Merlin smiled and nodded at the man, civil and polite, but slid an Ebon Grey shield around himself, skin-tight and subtle, just in case. He didn’t think it was likely; but he would rather be sure than full of bloody holes made by a male who thought Merlin was endangering his Queen.

He found Gwen working in one of the vegetable gardens, a rough apron covering her dress as she pulled weeds from the rows. Her hair was tied back - braided or something - with a thin spray of pale flowers twined in and reflecting up from the dark gloss of her hair.

She glanced up as she tossed a weed aside and sat back on her haunches and regarded him, a little uncertainly. “Merlin?”

And now that he was here, Merlin didn’t know what to say.

“Uh, hi. Do you want help with that?” He dropped to his knees at the end of the row and began tugging out a thin, spindly-looking plant.

“Not if you’re going to pull up the crop,” she said dryly, indicating the plant in his hand.

He hurriedly pushed the plant back into the ground, feeling a hot flush sweep across his cheeks. Of all the stupid things to do-- But Gwen had a funny smile on her face, more amused than annoyed at his mistake. He patted the ground and wondered if he should get a watering can or something. “Okay,” he said, confidingly, “so I’m not much good at gardening. But if you tell me what I can pull up...”

He trailed off.

Gwen was watching him, a thoughtful expression on her face.

Merlin had been scrutinised by women before - the Widow Viviane had looked him up and down like he was a steer she was buying, and he’d flirted with the girls of the nearby villages, and been invited to the bed of one or two witches in his time.

This was different.

This was less a woman looking at a man she was interested in - although there was that aspect in it, it wasn’t her primary consideration - than a Queen considering a male.

At least, that was what Merlin thought.

Blackbirds warbled overhead, and a piping whistle over in the orchards pierced the quiet morning.

“See the ones with the spindly leaves along that stretch?” She pointed out the slim spears pushing up through the moist soil amidst curling round-leaved sprouts. “Pull them up. Watch out for the peas, though.”

“Okay.” It looked like he was acceptable - at least for the moment. “So, have you been in Camelot long?”

“Since I was eight,” she said.

“And before that?”

“We lived in a village south of here - Tantun. It's a small farming community, several days trip from Camelot."

“Ah, a village girl.” Merlin flushed as she looked curiously at him. “I mean, I’m from a village, too.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly. “It shows.”

In spite of his embarrassment, Merlin couldn’t quite help grinning at her retort. “What about you? I mean, where’s your village?”

“Ealdor? Up near the ridge of Escatir - in Gwynedd, actually. Foresting land, not farming.”

“Which explains why you don’t know a weed from a vegetable.”

Merlin couldn’t deny that. And he couldn’t quite stop what came out of his mouth next, although he had the sense to put up an Ebon-Grey aural shield to prevent their conversation from being overheard. “I know a Queen from a Black Widow, though.”

He got no reaction from her at all. “I think most people do.”

“Even in Camelot?”

“Even in Camelot.” She lifted her eyes from the soil she was mounding around a vine that was making its way up a set of stakes. No defensiveness, no wariness. “I’m not what you think I am, Prince.”

Merlin considered that statement for a moment, seeing all the hidden subtleties of it and wondering which he should address first. “You don’t know what I think you are, Lady Guinevere.”

“I may not know much about a formal court, but I know the signs of a Prince looking for a Queen to serve.” Gwen sighed as she tugged at a recalcitrant weed in her row. “I’m not gathering a court, you know.”

“Why not?” Merlin paused. “Do you want help with that?”

“No,” she said, and a moment later hauled the weed out to a small spray of dirt. “Not all Queens need to have courts, you know. And where would I rule, anyway? There’s nowhere in Camelot or the surrounding towns that needs a Queen.”

_Camelot itself needs a Queen,_ Merlin wanted to say.

He wasn’t a Queen but he could feel the land beneath his fingers, and while this ground felt healthy from Gwen’s ministrations, further beyond the walls of this garden, he sensed the land’s need.

All the Blood had a connection with the land, but the Queens were the only caste who focused that connection, who could influence the land with their particular gifts, could drain their power into the land the way any other Blood might drain their power into their Jewels and renew the land that way.

Camelot had gone twenty years without a Queen to give back to the land.

Oh, looking at the way Gwen trailed her fingertips along the plants of the row, Merlin could tell she’d been giving back to the land here and there - but it wasn’t enough for all of Camelot town and the surrounding farms - not the way the Territory needed it.

He opened his mouth to point out all this, to say that she _was _needed.

One look at Guinevere’s face had him closing his lips around his words. She wasn’t willing to entertain this; not now - not yet. Maybe she was a Queen, but she was also a young woman who’d been a servant here in the castle for years, unrecognised, and unnoticed.

“So if you’re from a village, what are you doing here in the city?”

“I could ask the same of you. My mother died when I was young, and my father and I came to Camelot for his work.”

“Ah. My mother sent me here.” Actually, it had been the Widow Viviane who had started this journey for Merlin but he didn't see the point of sharing that right now. “I’m not sure why.”

“Maybe she got tired of having you around,” Gwen suggested, but her smile was teasing, and Merlin grinned back.

“You know, I said exactly the same thing to her when I found her packing my things.”

“She _must_ have been eager to get you out of the house...”

“I’ll have you know, my mother loves me very much!” Merlin said with as much injured dignity as he could feign.

"Preferably from a long way away?" Her eyes sparkled with mischief, and Merlin eyed her, then tossed a pulled weed at her. She gasped and ducked it so it passed over her shoulder, then tossed one back at him which he deflected easily.

As the worked their way along the rows, Merlin gently gleaned information from Gwen - her duties and chores here in the castle, her father and the few friends she had down in the town and among the castle servants. He coaxed her to give her opinion on the nobility and the servants, and offered his own pithy opinion of Arthur Pendragon - an idiot and a bully and a prat.

“I’ve seen his kind before - not in my village, of course, but in a neighbouring one. Another aristo, who swaggered around like he owned the place - like he had every right to be a prick. Of course, he wasn’t the son of the ruling Prince of a Territory.”

Which presented all kinds of problems in and of itself.

“He’s very strong,” said Gwen after a while. “His Birthright Jewel is strong as Prince Uther’s Jewel of Rank - Purple Dusk. And he hasn’t yet made the Offering, so he’ll probably be stronger yet.”

“And may the Darkness have mercy on Camelot,” muttered Merlin as he mounded soil around a series of plants that weren’t doing too well because their roots were becoming exposed.

Gwen didn’t answer, doing something with the next row of plants that Merlin couldn’t see because her back was turned towards him as she worked, her loose knot of hair having unwound a little in the morning sun, her sleeves roughly pushed up to the elbows to leave her wrists free, her apron dusty and dirty at the knees where she’d knelt in the soil.

She wasn’t what Merlin would call a pretty witch, but there was something about her - a thing about the way she turned her head to look at him, or the way her face brightened in a smile. In the course of their discussion and their work, she’d carried herself with dignity and grace, even when there was a smudge of dirt on her cheekbone.

Maybe she wasn't an aristo Queen, full of airs and courtly graces, but she was a witch that men would follow because she cared about what happened to them - because she wouldn’t use their lives like they were expendable.

Merlin reflected that, whatever he’d thought about the Queen he might someday serve, he hadn’t expected Guinevere.

And maybe that was a good thing.

He heard the sound of soft skirts dragging over the grass for few steps before the speaker appeared. “Gwen?”

Merlin tried not to tense beneath the clear green gaze of the Black Widow.

Last night, he’d inquired about the young witch who’d shown such familiarity with Arthur. _Lady Morgana Le Fay - her father was Gorlois, Duke of Cornwall. Yes, she’s a natural Black Widow, although she’s never been trained in the arts of the Hourglass._

_And Uther allows this?_

_Uther’s the one who decided she wouldn’t be trained._

“My Lady,” Gwen rose from her work. “I’m sorry - is it so late? I thought--”

“It’s all right, Gwen. You’re not late. They told me you were working out here and I thought I’d come and see how you were doing with it...” The young witch looked around at the garden, but Merlin could see that she wasn’t really noticing anything around her. Her focus was on him and his proximity to Gwen. “And your friend...?”

“Uh. My Lady, this is Merlin. Merlin, this is my lady, Morgana.”

Merlin gave the bow appropriate to a Widow with Opal Jewels and watched Morgana’s brows rise darkly over her pale eyes. “Lady Morgana.”

“Merlin. You’ve taken no harm from Arthur’s mishandling yesterday?”

“Uh, no. Everything’s quite fine. Now. My Lady.” He felt like an idiot as he stammered through the words. “I’ve just been helping Gwen with the garden.”

“So I see.” Her gaze didn't leave him at all; he was starting to grow unnerved by it. Did she sense his training in the Hourglass? Could she tell he wore the Ebon-Grey? Was his hair sticking up?

If it was any of those reasons, she didn’t comment on it, but turned to Gwen. “Gwen, I was thinking about the feast tonight and my wardrobe...”

There were times and places to point out to this young aristo witch that she was standing in the middle of a vegetable garden. Merlin didn’t think this was one of them.

“I’ll...just be going then. Gaius is probably wondering why I’m not there to...run errands for him. Clean his bottles. Grind his herbs...”

As excuses went, it was fairly lame, and Gwen’s raised eyebrows said as much. Morgana took it without comment, though, which was what he’d been aiming for. An excuse - any excuse - to get out from beneath that piercing gaze was a good one.

“Thank you for the help, Merlin.”

“It was no trouble.” He smiled at her, watched her smile back and felt the better for his dirty nails and grubby hands.

Then he hurried off, leaving by the other end of the garden rather than going past Lady Morgana. She might be untrained in the Hourglass Coven, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d sense his training if he went too close.

And he didn’t think she’d come down to see Gwen over a question of banquet clothing.

At the edge of the kitchen gardens, Merlin turned to look back, one hand on the wall that divided the kitchen yard from the castle’s front court. The two women were standing close, Morgana’s hand resting on Gwen’s arm as though in supplication of the servant girl. Gwen was speaking, her expression earnest as she looked at Morgana

It seemed an oddly confidential pose for an aristo witch and her maidservant. But then, Merlin supposed, a young Black Widow would recognise a Queen - especially when the Queen worked in her household. And if Morgana had been denied her training as a Black Widow, she might be more open to a Queen who'd reinstate the old ways.

So Gwen had at least one aristo ally in Camelot - one who was well-positioned to keep an eye out for her.

Reassured by that realisation - even if he wasn’t particularly comfortable with Lady Morgana’s stare - Merlin went to find Gaius with a lighter heart.

*-*-*-*

Running errands for Gaius down in the town that afternoon, Merlin was just as glad not to have to go back to the apothecary. While the man had been helpful, Merlin had a feeling it wouldn’t be wise to know too much about any former males who’d served in the Hourglass here in Camelot.

He was getting used to the layout of the town - the way the streets ran, the sections of the town, the traders’ row. It was so much bigger than he was used to in Ealdor; so many more people.

Merlin still wasn’t sure he liked Camelot, but he was here now, and this was where his Queen was. This was where he’d been called to serve.

Although, he reflected, as someone called his name, he could definitely have done without some of the people in Camelot.

“Oh, come on, don’t just walk away!”

Merlin could, and did.

Of course, the Warlord Prince couldn’t let it go there.

“Running away now, are we?”

There wasn’t much he could do with that challenge ringing in his ears. Merlin turned around. “We don’t have anything to say to each other.”

“You had a reprieve yesterday.”

“Thanks to your...obedience...to the Lady Morgana.”

It wouldn’t have worked as a goad in Ealdor, where the Lady Viviane was respected and feared by everyone from Harald, who was the Warlord Prince of Ealdor, down to eight year-old Kelvin who’d only just gone through the Birthright ceremony this last Winsol. When she said to do something, witches and males moved to do it.

In Camelot, though...

He felt the first snap of temper in the air as the Warlord Prince responded to the goad - hot temper, not freezing cold fury, thank the Darkness.

“You are a bold one - ballsy. I like that.” Arthur smiled, but it wasn’t a particularly nice smile. “I’m going to enjoy kicking the crap out of you.”

Merlin eyed him. “You can try.”

“Try?” Arthur snorted. “Let me explain it to you in small words; I’ve been trained to kill a man from a very young age.”

“Ah, so how long have you been training to be a prat?”

“You know, you can’t speak to me like that!”

“Oh, sorry.” Merlin made a good show of embarrassment. “I meant, how long have you been training to be a prat, Prince?”

He dodged the stick that whistled past his head, missing him by a bare finger span - so close he felt it breeze across his skin. As he ducked another swipe at his head, Merlin reflected that it was probably just as well that Arthur hadn’t called in a _bladed _stick.

As it was, he had no weapon - nothing with which to defend himself against Arthur’s onslaught. He wasn't weapons-trained and had never seen a need to keep even a skinning knife in his cache, although Will had sneered at him.

Hastily, he put an Ebon-Grey shield all around him, just above his skin, then layered a Sapphire shield over it. It wouldn’t stop him from getting bruised if things got too rough, but it would stop him from breaking anything if the Warlord Prince turned savage.

Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea after all.

He backed away as Arthur came at him, looking for somewhere that was a little less crowded. If there was going to be a fight, then Merlin didn’t want to see bystanders getting hurt. A Warlord Prince at the killing edge knew nothing beyond his own rage and his opponent. Arthur Pendragon wasn’t at the killing edge, but he was definitely in a fine temper - and focused on Merlin.

Marketplace cobbles under his feet - they were out in the square, but there wasn’t really anywhere for Merlin to turn to keep the other man at bay. The other aristo males weren’t getting directly involved in the fight, but he doubted they’d stand back and leave him alone if they thought he was trying to escape.

Casting around for a weapon - something that he could use to defend himself - Merlin’s eye alighted upon a broomstick, resting by a doorway, and he called it to his hand using Craft and sheared off the bristles with a thought.

He didn’t know the first thing about fighting with a weapon. That didn’t mean he wasn’t going to try.

Merlin planted his feet and tried to deflect Arthur’s next blow. His arms rang from the clash of wood against wood, and his shoulder twinged. He managed to disengage fast enough to see the next blow coming for his head, and stumbled back, out of reach.

His foot slipped on a coil of rope, and with a flick of Craft, he sent it looping around Arthur’s ankle and jerked it tight.

An ‘ooh’ of approval went up as the Warlord Prince went down, grimacing. But a moment later, he was back on his feet and trying to entangle Merlin instead. Merlin leaped clear with a huff of breath.

They moved back, sticks occasionally clashing. The fight was now more about Craft and cunning than it was about actual war craft. Merlin had the advantage in being stronger and not betraying his moves; Arthur had the advantage in being trained in weaponry and how to bring a man down.

He was also used to fighting. By the time Merlin spotted Gaius in the crowd, he was really tired, and it was only his shields and his skill with Craft that was keeping him from injury.

Then even that failed him as he stumbled on an uneven cobblestone, took a whack to the ribs, and another to the shoulder, and crashed to the ground.

Humiliation and anger coiled in his belly as he looked up at the smirking Warlord Prince. Around them, people were craning their necks and nodding sagely. His humiliation had been witnessed by most of the marketplace, and Merlin’s pride felt stung. For a moment, he serious thought about tossing an Hourglass spell in Arthur’s direction - nothing too debilitating, just an illusion spell that would make it look like that handsome face had open sores all over it - sores that oozed an ugly pus.

Then movement caught his eye to the side; Gaius coming to the forefront of the crowd. He didn’t look happy - either with Merlin, or with Arthur - and Merlin had a feeling that a stern talking-to was in his future.

Then, even that concern was forgotten as gloved hands grabbed his arms.

“Well, you’re not a coward, at any rate,” said the Warlord Prince as the guards hauled him up. “Although you’re no fighter, either. There’s something about you that I can’t quite put my finger on, Merlin. Still, I suppose it’ll come to me in time, now that you’ll be hanging around Camelot like a bad smell...” He flicked his fingers at the guards. “Let him go. Gaius can take care of him now.”

And with a smirk that only added insult to injury, Arthur vanished his stick, collected his aristo friends, and strolled back in the direction of the town, leaving Merlin to shoulder the burden of humiliation - and his new mentor’s ire.

*-*-*-*

“Can’t you at least keep out of trouble?”

“He needed to be taken down a peg!”

“And you achieved that so well out there!” Gaius snapped. “You’re already in enough danger given your training with the Hourglass; the last thing you want to do is find yourself at odds with Prince Arthur!”

“He’s a bully!”

“He’s the son of the Prince who rules Camelot Territory!”

“And someday he’s going to rule it, too?” Merlin demanded. “Is that what’s in the wind? Because let me tell you - he wears the Purple Dusk, and if he makes the Offering, he could well come away wearing the Sapphire! And if he’s a bully now, then Darkness knows what he’s going to be like when he’s got that much power and that much influence.”

And Merlin’s Queen was in Camelot, working for Prince Uther’s ward. A young Queen, untried and vulnerable - and a threat to Arthur Pendragon’s power if the Warlord Prince wanted to rule Camelot like his father.

As a Queen to whom the Blood felt the tug of service, Gwen was a risk to Arthur. With Merlin and the eleven other males required to fill a First Circle, she would have a court that could present a threat to any male seeking to rule on his own.

Merlin was no warrior. Arthur was right about that. But neither was he an innocent.

He knew how some males ‘controlled’ witches they thought were too powerful. He knew what happened to a witch who wasn’t properly seen through her Virgin Night. He’d seen the fragile, docile women who’d once been witches with such personality, such promise - until a male broke them during that first sexual experience.

It was the greatest vulnerability of a young witch, waiting to come into her power.

And if Merlin had to lay all Camelot to waste, he would keep Gwen from being broken.

“Merlin--”

Gaius’ intervention brought his notice to the frost riming the glassware on the table beside him.

Merlin stared at the icy crystals that had formed over the clear surfaces - the result of the emotion that had snapped through him. He hadn’t realised he’d gone cold.

A Blood male had two kinds of anger; the hot fury was passion, emotion, instinct. In a Warlord Prince without a Queen’s gentling influence, it would mean shouting, storming fury - perhaps a bloody, brutal death. The other kind of anger was cold, icy - the deep welling up of an anger that could destroy courts and shatter relationships. In a Prince trained by the Hourglass...

Merlin swallowed, and forced himself to take a deep, calming breath.

It hadn’t happened yet. And Gwen wasn’t alone - she had a Black Widow close to her, and a Black Widow-trained, Ebon-Grey Jewelled Prince to protect her. And Merlin would protect his Queen to his dying breath.

But Gaius was right; he didn’t dare be noticed.

“I’m sorry, Gaius,” he said, his voice civil over the anger and fear he felt. “But I will protect Gwen with everything I have in me - if that means going through Arthur and his father and you to do so.”

And without waiting for an answer from the astonished old man, he went into his room and closed the door behind him.

*-*-*-*

Reflecting on what he should and shouldn’t have said allowed Merlin to ignore the sting in his shoulders where he’d scraped along the ground during the fight.

He stared at the wall above his pillow and grimaced as he replayed the events of the afternoon over in his head. He shouldn’t have threatened Gaius. He should have kept his mouth shut and his temper controlled.

An Ebon-Grey Prince couldn’t afford _not_ to be controlled.

But within him, something reiterated that this had needed saying. That he’d needed to hear for himself how far he would go for Gwen - for his Queen.

The knock on the door surprised him.

“Yes?”

“I brought some ointment for your bruises,” Gaius said from the doorway. “May I come in?”

Merlin sat up, grimacing as he did so. His shoulders and back were stiff, the muscles protesting their unaccustomed use. Getting his shirt off was nearly torture.

“I imagine that you’re more than a little sore after that display in the marketplace.”

“I couldn’t let it go.”

Gaius sighed as he daubed the ointment on, then began to rub it into the muscle. “I know. I’m just not used to young men who go up against Warlord Princes.”

“He’s only Purple Dusk.” _Now._

“He’s still a Warlord Prince. And what about after he makes the Offering?”

After Arthur made the Offering, he still wouldn’t be as strong as Merlin. But he’d be dangerous if his behaviour was left unchecked.

“Then I’ll deal with him then.” Merlin stared at the wall for a moment. “I shouldn’t have accused you of complicity--”

“Why not? There’s an element of truth in what you said, Merlin.” Gaius hesitated. “The current situation in Camelot - without a Queen... I don’t think anyone expected it to go on this long. After Igraine died, most people thought Uther would throw his weight behind a new Queen and a new court, but then there was war and in the confusion and complication, we lost several promising Queens. None of the remaining ones had the strength or a First Circle capable of holding Camelot together...”

Merlin glanced back. “You knew about Gwen.”

“It’s not exactly something she can hide.”

“But nobody seems to behave--”

“Have you considered that it may very well be safer not to be known a Queen in Camelot?”

“Well, yes, but--”

“She’s safer where she is, Merlin.”

“She’s a servant!”

“And so are you. And you’re an Ebon-Grey Jewelled Prince. Besides, you may not have noticed, but the servants protect Gwen in their own way.”

He thought of the kitchen and the wary gazes that rested on him that morning when he asked where Gwen was. “Oh, I noticed, all right. It’s kind of hard not to when half of them have knives in their hands, and the other half look like they’d boil me alive if I did something they didn’t like.”

"Yes, well, I hear that males can be protective of their Queen." The old physician patted Merlin’s bare shoulder. “And you’re done. I won’t ask you to do any chores tonight, but you won’t be so lucky as to get out of work tomorrow with all that must be done for the feast.”

Merlin tugged on his shirt, grimacing at the sting of the scrapes and the prospect of tomorrow's labour. “And this is all I can hope for in Camelot? To be a servant?"

"There's nothing wrong with being a servant, Merlin. Good service can be a matter of great pride, too. Besides, it's not yet Gwen's time."

"Will it ever be?"

"I imagine so. And when it is, you'll be there, Merlin, but until that day, you have to be patient.”

*-*-*-*

Merlin dreamed - and in his dreams, he stood balanced on an Ebon-Grey web in a great cavern that loomed up above him to daylight, and descended beneath his feet into endless darkness.

Across the ceiling the cavern, far above him, he could make out other webs spanning the space. Grey, then Red, Sapphire, Green, and Opal, before the colours blurred, too pale for him to see.

The Widows spoke of places inside the mind, of the inner Web that enabled craft, the crystal chalice that was the sense of self, but Merlin had never heard of this place.

He turned on his heel, trying to work out how he’d come her - and how to leave it - when dark power rumbled through the cavern and a spidery voice cut through the silence.

“So it is you who disturrbs me.”

At first Merlin thought someone had carved a dragon into the wall. Then, with a start of surprise, he realised the dragon _was _the wall.

It was said that once, long ago, only the dragons had craft. Out of all the creatures in all the realms, only the dragons were Blood, their Queens powerful, their males protective, the world full of their glory and beauty and skill.

That had been many aeons ago.

Now, the great dragons were just a legend - one of the races of the Blood that had long since ‘gone back to the Darkness’, although their smaller cousins were said to live along the coastal lands.

It seemed that not all of them had returned to the Darkness after all.

“I... My name is Merlin.”

The dragon tilted its head as though considering the statement. “How small you arre forr such a grreat destiny.”

As if the existence of the dragon hadn’t been surprise enough, now Merlin’s thoughts stumbled over the realisation that the dragon not only knew who he was, but saw his future. “My destiny?”

“Yes, young Emrys, yourr destiny. You have been long awaited, seen in the tangled webs of the Hourrglass long beforre you werre borrn.”

“Me? My-- What destiny?”

“Yourr destiny is tied with that of the young Arthurr Pendrragon.”

“What?” Merlin thought of the gold-haired bully, who’d thought no more of picking on a servant than he would have thought of swatting a fly. “Arthur Pendragon? There must be some mistake.”

Huge wings stretched wide, dull green-gold shadows in the darkness all around them. “Therre is no mistake, young Emrys. Arthur is the Warrlorrd Prrince who will unite the rrealm of Albion.”

Merlin stared.

He'd only heard of Albion once, reading through a historical text the Widow Viviane had in her library which had referenced Albion. Said to be the once and future realm, ruled by Witch - a Queen who wore the Black, the darkest Jewels of the Blood - Albion in its presence state was split into five Territories, ruled by various Queens - and one Prince. Camelot was the southernmost of the Territories, and one of the strongest in military terms, but a Queen hadn’t ruled it in a long time.

“There must be some mistake,” Merlin began. Arthur? To unite Albion? That bully to be the ruler of Albion?

The dragon in front of him shifted, tilting its great wedge-shaped head to regard him as though he were a curious, hoppy bug. “Does the Hourrglass make mistakes?”

“No. Not mistakes. But sometimes...they don’t see all the picture, or are looking at it wrong. How can Arthur be--? He’s a Warlord Prince; they only rule on behalf of their Queen...” Merlin watched the dragon shift, felt something hanging in the air between them. Whatever Arthur did or didn’t do, it wasn't the Warlord Prince who would decide the fate of the kingdom. “Who’s the Queen that Arthur’ll serve?”

“That is not seen. Not by me.”

"So you can see that Arthur’s going to be this great Warlord Prince? Can you see that he's hardly a good candidate to rule the Blood? The man's an arse!”

“Then you must shape him into the leaderr he is meant to be.”

“Me? Shape Arthur into-- There’s definitely been a mistake somewhere!”

“The tangled webs show trrue: without you, there is no Arthur. Without Arthur, there is no Albion. Without Albion, the Blood will fade from this rrealm, lost forrever. It is not Arthur’s Queen who is the key to the man he must be, but his Prrince.”

“I’m not his anything!” Merlin couldn’t believe his ears. The idea that he-- That Arthur--

“You cannot escape yourr destiny, young Emrys. You do not choose it - it chooses you. Why else do you think you have trrained with the Hourrglass? Forr what otherr purpose do you think you werre given yourr gifts? Everything has a rreason - and the rreason you have come to Camelot is to help Arthur unite Albion.”

“But he’s a bully! He doesn't know the first thing about service or honour or loyalty! All he knows is how to push other people around” The idea of Albion under the rule of the man who’d twisted Merlin’s arm behind his back this morning was, frankly, terrifying.

Strength was to be used in the service of the weak, not to ride over them roughshod. Arthur as Warlord Prince of Camelot was a frightening enough vision for Merlin - but Arthur as Warlord Prince of all Albion?

The dragon tilted its great head, the large gold eyes fixed thoughtfully on Merlin’s face. “Then perrhaps it is yourr destiny to change that, Prrince.”

*-*-*-*

Merlin woke with a gasp, the memory of the cavern's weight pressing in on him.

Outside the window, dawn was just tinting the horizon, the promise of a clear day. Merlin stared up at the patterns of the wood-beamed ceiling, and groaned to himself.

A destiny to look after Prince Arthur? To befriend the bully and somehow guide him into being the kind of Warlord Prince who knew when to stand and fight and when to submit and yield?

Mother Night and may the Darkness be merciful.

Albion was doomed for sure.

“Merlin?”

The voice outside the door roused him from his thoughts. “Yeah?”

Gaius peered in. "How do you feel this morning? The mistress of the house put in a request for helpers for tonight’s feast, and I volunteered you since I don’t have too many errands for you to run today and it’ll keep you out of trouble.”

“I wasn’t looking for trouble yesterday, you know!” Merlin felt the need to defend himself.

“And yet trouble found you all the same.” Gaius noted, dry as old dust. “Never mind, Merlin. I guarantee, there’ll be plenty of things for you to do today, and Arthur knows better than to meddle in servants’ business.”

Four hours later, Merlin reflected that he almost wished for the Warlord Prince to come and interrupt him. His arms ached from carrying and scrubbing, polishing, and dusting. His back ached from bending over to pick things up and clean things out. And if he was a long way from having drained his Jewels, it wasn’t an easy thing to float trestles and chairs in the door, even using the Sapphire, which was his Birthright Jewel.

Still, it was something he could do himself, and it was freeing up other servants to deal with other things.

“Take a break,” said the housemistress to him once the trestles were in and settled to her satisfaction. “Get something to eat down in the kitchens. You’ll need it.”

Merlin didn’t argue. He’d been hungry for the last hour, and if the Mistress of House hadn’t sent him to the kitchens, he would have found his way down there very soon.

The darker a Blood's Jewels, the faster their metabolism worked. It was possible for a witch or Blood male to starve themselves in a matter of days simply by forgetting to eat. With Merlin wearing the Ebon-Grey, his mother had occasionally teased him about eating her out of her home. After a long day’s work, he was _hungry._

Like yesterday, the kitchen was a hive of activity, people moving everywhere, knives chopping, the spit sizzling on the stove. This time, however, there were no stares, no careful assessment, no subtle shift of attention.

“Something to eat?” The cook handed the pot she’d been carrying off to a scullery boy and regarded Merlin. “Sorcha sent you, then? What’s she been working you at? Moving tables?”

“And benches in the great hall.”

“So I expect there’ll be others along shortly.”

Merlin glanced back at the entryway that led up to the main corridor and from there up to the hall. “No. Just me.”

He could have sworn the room hushed at that. “Just you?”

“Uh, yes, ma’am.”

“You moved those tables and benches yourself?”

He spread his hands wide and gave a nervous smile at the sudden tinge of wariness through the room. “Pretty much. It wasn’t hard,” he added.

“I see.” The cook seemed disconcerted for only a moment, before she wiped her hands on her apron and started off across the kitchen, beckoning Merlin to follow her to a set of cupboards. “All right, then... Well, I think we have some scraps and bits here if you’re not looking for something fit for Prince Uther...”

It wasn’t a proper meal, just cast-offs from the previous night. Slightly burned bread and chunky soup made from the remnants of the previous night’s dinner. There was lard dripping for the bread, and as he sat on the chair indicated by the cook, she cut him a large chunk of cheese and a bit of sausage. “That should do you right until the dinner meal. I suppose you’ll be serving, then?”

Merlin hadn’t expected this much food, and stared at it as the pieces came out. “I... Gaius hasn’t talked to me about that yet. You know, I don’t think I need quite this much-- Gwen.”

She set down the tray she’d been carrying on the nearby bench and flashed a smile at the kitchen helper who came to take it away before she turned back. “Merlin.” Her gaze flickered over the contents of his ‘snack’ and she shot him an amused look. “Hungry?”

“I...not really. I mean, not for this much.” He flashed an apologetic glance at the cook. “Although it was really nice of you to do this, and I could share it with Gwen--”

“Oh, I’m not hungry just yet,” Gwen assured him. “Carys, Lady Morgana said she won’t be having the afternoon snack, so don’t prepare it. She’ll just wait for dinner today.”

“If you think so...”

“I do. She’ll be having a nap this afternoon - she hasn’t been sleeping well of late, and she doesn’t want to nod off in the middle of dinner tonight.”

“I doubt there’ll be many doing that - not if the Lady Helen’s singing for us. I remember the last time she sang for the king - I took myself a break, but the corridors outside the great hall were already crowded something terrible. Well, and it’ll be good to hear that again.”

“Gwen,” Merlin said as the cook went back to her duties, “are you sure you don’t want something here? I mean, I can’t eat it all myself...I’ll burst!”

“I don’t think you’re in any danger of bursting,” Gwen assured him. “You look almost starved. Not that there’s anything wrong with that,” she added hastily. “I’m sure your mother tried to feed you well. That is, I’m sure she looked after you.”

Merlin watched as she flustered, a grin growing on his face. And when she stopped, the smooth brown of her cheeks holding pinkish undertones, he pushed the plate her way. “Have some cheese at least.”

Gwen sighed and cut off a slim wedge of cheese. “There. I’ve had some cheese.”

“Have some more.” He cut her a bigger wedge and added a slice of wizened apple to it. “You look pretty starved, too.”

Even this close he couldn’t tell what Jewels she wore - which was odd. Standing beside him at the wall bench, her psychic scent was clearly that of a Queen, but her Jewel strength was...indeterminate. Which made no sense.

Not all the Blood were born Jewelled - only those whose power was too strong to be contained within the body. A Birthright Jewel appeared when the child was taken through the Birthright Ceremony - or whatever equivalent existed for the child and their family. Then, when they were adult, they made an Offering to the Darkness - a full night of wrestling with the Darkness to determine what their adult strength might be.

There were Blooded males and witches who didn’t have Jewels, of course. They could perform basic craft, held the connection to the land, but they didn’t have a caste.

One could have Jewels without being of a caste; but it was impossible to be of a caste without also being Jewelled.

Wearing the Ebon Grey, Merlin should have been able to sense Gwen’s Jewel strength. But he was getting...nothing. Not even a hint of her strength. Which might be possible if she wore Ebon-Grey or Black Jewels, only... Those Jewels were extremely rare as Jewels of Rank. For her to be Ebon-Grey or Black-Jewelled by _birth_...

Merlin could ask her outright, of course, but that seemed impolite. _Hello. What’s your Jewel strength?_

His mother had always told him that if he couldn’t tell and it wasn’t obvious, then he shouldn’t ask. It wasn’t his business, and asking might suggest that he wanted to see if he outranked them - which was very impolite.

Gwen snorted, and turned her head to look at the cook. “Carys?”

“Gwen?”

“Merlin here thinks you must be starving me!”

“What?” Merlin’s head jerked up. “I never said that! I said you should have something to eat because there’s too much food--!” He caught Gwen’s grin and mock-glared at her, spreading his hands over the plate in a protective huff. “Fine, for that, I’m eating all of this-- Hey!”

And, of course, now that he didn’t want to share, Gwen slipped her fingers neatly through his and nipped out the wedge of cheese and the apple. “I’ve got to go check the linens up in the guest rooms. I’ll see you later, Merlin...”

Merlin watched her go, watched the way the gazes of others in the kitchen followed her and remembered what Gaius had said last night: _the servants protect Gwen in their own way._

Yes, they did. They knew they had a Queen in their midst. And, looking around the room at their expressions as Gwen went, they would do almost anything to keep her safe. The realisation was a relief.

A footman had just entered the kitchen and paused, looking around. “I’ve been sent by Sorcha to find Merlin. She said he might be in the kitchens...”

He swallowed down a chunk of sausage and nearly choked on it. “That’s me,” he managed.

The middle-aged footman eyed him, somewhat distastefully. “Right. She said when you’re done with your meal, go find her in the chatelaine’s accounts room. She’s got more work for you.”

Merlin nodded, and hurriedly downed the rest of his meal.

A little while later, he was learning new twists and turns of the castle's corridors on his way to Lady Helen's suite.

Sorcha had sent him down to Gaius, who'd sent him back up to the housekeeper with a small vial of a herbal medicine that was to be mixed into a glass of wine for the singer. Apparently the cool Camelot nights did not agree with her throat, and she'd expressed a wish for a medicine to soothe it before she sang this evening.

After Carys' praise for the singer, Merlin was a little curious. Apparently, Lady Helen was quite young - only thirty, but already renowned through Camelot, and much in demand in aristo courts. That she'd agreed to sing for Prince Uther's twenty-year celebrations was considered quite a coup on the Prince's part.

He didn't quite linger on his way through the halls, but he slowed a little the better to admire the stained glass windows and the fine arches that buttressed the internal balconies. Whatever he thought of Camelot's rulers, the castle itself was magnificent.

A knock on the door gained no answer or sound from within. It seemed that the lady was out enjoying the Camelot sunshine, and that any servants who'd been assigned to take care of her room had other tasks to fill at that moment.

Merlin turned, about to return to Sorcha. Then he stopped.

The sharp psychic scent that drifted on the air was unmistakeably that of a Black Widow - and, moreover, one that had been trained in the Hourglass.

Yesterday morning, he'd met another Black Widow - immature and untrained. This scent was as unlike that as the perfume of a full-blown rose was to the delicate tinge of violets in the air.

He hovered outside for a moment, uncertain and indecisive. Then, he knocked again, loudly, just in case the lady had been sleeping, and lifted the latch.

There was nothing unusual about the room - no visible sign that the Lady Helen was anything other than what she appeared to be. But the room was full of the psychic scent of a Black Widow, and Merlin wondered that nobody had commented on it - this was Camelot.

There was a small table by the fireplace with a cushioned chair; a four-poster bed, hung with fine velvet, and a glossy wooden dresser stood to one side of the room, a veil drawn over the mirror, and an assortment of creams and unguents on its tabletop. The signs of Lady Helen's occupancy were clear enough - a dress lying on the embroidered coverlet, a pair of slippers tucked beneath the bed, a fine, filmy, overdress and sash in russet hung by the wardrobe...

And everywhere, the sharply pervading scent of a Black Widow.

A soft voice coughed from the doorway.

Merlin started as he met the dark gaze of Lady Helen. The lady was not so tall as him, and elegant with her dark hair piled up on the crown of her head and threaded through with a ribbon. "Lady Helen. I... I brought the medicine you requested from the mistress of house and Gaius the physician. For your throat."

He found himself stuttering, suddenly reminded of the way he'd felt when he was fourteen and first sent to train with the Hourglass - a young male working amidst mature witches.

"So I see," she said, her voice smooth with faintly melodic undertones. "Thank the mistress of house and the physician for their courtesy."

He bobbed his head and gave her a brief smile, bowed. Then grew nervous as the door closed and locked behind her with a crook of her finger.

"Lady?"

"I did not know that the Hourglass had males here.”

Merlin swallowed. She'd recognised him as a male of the Hourglass? "I...I'm just a servant, my Lady."

"Just a servant, aye." Her voice lilted. "But a male who served the Hourglass, here in Camelot, under the Prince's nose..." Red lips curved. "I'm sure Prince Uther would not like that." Her gaze ran speculatively over him. “Are you permitted to serve in Camelot, or is that forbidden here - along with everything else to do with the Hourglass?"

Merlin’s heart pounded against his chest as she drew closer.

“I... It’s not permitted, my Lady.”

She regarded him with her head tilted to one side. “A pity. But you’ve served the Hourglass before?”

"Y...yes. In my village. I was..." Merlin hesitated, unsure of what he should say, miming uncertainty as to how much he could say - how much he should.

It wasn't usual for males to be trained in the Hourglass craft. By tradition, only Black Widows, and witches who sought to learn the Hourglass arts were taught, never males. Males served - sometimes as participants in the formal rituals, more often sexually during the revelries afterwards.

Merlin had served in the rituals several times, but only once in the revelries and that before he'd finished his training with the Hourglass. Lady Viviane had explained it to him as she was taking him through the final lessons of the craft. _It's more difficult for an Hourglass witch to bed a male with darker Jewels, Merlin. We're a distrusted caste of witches for the most part; and distrust breeds distrust - even with a young man as trustworthy as you._

"You were used by the coven," Lady Helen purred. "I can tell that about you. It leaves its marks upon you, my boy, clear as day."

So the apothecary had said. Merlin figured that sometime in the next few days he'd have to work up a tangled web that would disguise his psychic scent as a male who'd worked with the coven. In the meantime, he had to work out a way to alleviate any concerns the Lady had about him - and to work out what felt so strange about her.

Because beyond her psychic scent as a Black Widow lay another scent - a hint of something subtle and twisted - a tangled web cast to create an illusion.

And with that, his senses kicked into outright alarm.

"It's not generally known, my lady," he said hastily, trying to act like nothing more than a nervous, stuttering young male and not a member of the Hourglass trying to determine the skeins of the spell she'd woven around her. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't mention..."

"Ah," she said, and suddenly she seemed like nothing more than an aristo witch curious about the young male she'd found in her rooms. "I won't. You can trust me on that."

"Thank you, my lady. May I...? I've still got errands to run..."

She nodded his dismissal, and Merlin hurried to the door, fumbled with the latch.

"You won't need to fear Uther Pendragon for too much longer, boy. Change is coming."

"I... Yes, my lady. I... Would you help with the door, please?"

She flicked a finger and it opened for him, and Merlin hurried out, trying not to seem like he was running away.

He closed the door behind him, but didn't relax.

Instead, he went looking for Gaius.

*-*-*-*

By the time Merlin reached Gaius’ rooms in the castle, he’d had time to think.

If Lady Helen was a Black Widow, then there was a reason for the illusion spell - to hide the fact that she was a Black Widow. The only crime of the young man who’d been executed the other morning had been in serving the Hourglass.

It occurred to Merlin that he hadn’t taken the apothecary’s warning seriously enough.

He could blame part of it on meeting Gwen. That had thrown him for a loop. But now that a second person had identified him as having served the Hourglass, he was beginning to feel that a little subterfuge was going to be required - all the more if he was going to serve Gwen and this great ‘destiny’ that the demon-dead dragon seemed to think belonged to him.

And he wasn’t even going to consider the idea that his ‘destiny’ involved reforming Arthur Pendragon.

He put an Ebon-Grey aural shield around the room as soon as he walked into Gaius' chamber, on the off-chance that anyone came in.

The old physician was sitting at his reading bench, over by the window to get the best light. He didn’t look up from the text he was studying, squinting faintly at the pages.

“Ah, Merlin. Everything delivered okay?”

“Yes. Sort of."

"Sort of?"

"Lady Helen knows I’ve served with the Hourglass.”

Gaius glanced up now, alarm on his face. “She knows you’re a Black Widow?”

“No, she recognised that I’ve served with the Hourglass, not that I’d trained with them.” And for that small but significant division, Merlin was grateful. It was one thing to be seen as a male who’d served with the Hourglass; quite another to actually have trained in the arts of the Hourglass.

“How did she recognise it?”

“I don’t know. But she’s not the first. The apothecary said I had the signs of the Hourglass about me, and I’d better be careful about it.”

“Wendroy knew that you’d served with the Black Widows or that you are a Black Widow?”

“He knew that I’d trained. Like recognises like, he said. That’s probably why Lady Helen recognised me.” Merlin huffed out a long breath. “I think I’m going to have to work on a concealment spell; all this attention is beginning to make me feel that I’ve got a herald wandering around, telling people all about me.” He headed for his room, mentally calculating the supplies he had and whether they’d be of any use in the formulation of a tangled web of concealment.

“Wait, Merlin.”

He paused with his hand on the door of his room. “What?”

“You said 'like recognises like'? But then you said that the Lady Helen knew what you were.”

“Yes.”

“Merlin, the Lady Helen is not, nor ever has been, a Black Widow.”

It took a few seconds for the meaning of the words to penetrate Merlin’s head. “What? Gaius, I recognise a Black Widow’s scent, and Lady Helen is definitely one. Even if I hadn’t met her in person, it’s all through her room.”

“That can’t be right - she can’t be a Black Widow - Uther would never have hired her to sing otherwise.”

“Well, maybe he doesn’t know; in which case, I’m not about to tell him!” Merlin hesitated. “There was an illusion spell around her."

“She’s wearing an illusion spell?”

“Yes. Although if she’s a Black Widow, it wouldn’t be surprising.”

Gaius regarded him earnestly. “Merlin, you’re sure about this?”

“Sure as I’m standing here talking to you. I could feel the sense of it - it’s like feeling a spider web against your skin.” He shrugged. “Maybe you can only feel it if you’ve been trained by the Hourglass.”

“There’s never been the faintest hint of the Hourglass about Lady Helen.”

“Which only goes to show that she’s very skilled.”

“Or that she has another purpose here.”

Merlin stared. “Gaius, if she’s a Black Widow, then she has a very good reason for keeping that fact secret!”

“And if she’s a Black Widow, then she has an equally good reason for coming to Camelot.” Gaius straightened. “Do you remember what I said about Uther and the way he came to rule Camelot? There are plenty of people who are angry at the lack of a Queen in Camelot - members of the Hourglass in particular.”

“Gaius, _I_ was trained by the Hourglass. If she has a good reason for murdering Uther simply by being of the Hourglass, then so do I!”

“True. However, you haven’t arrived in Camelot under an illusion spell.”

“No. But I’m planning to create one to hide the fact that I’ve served with the Hourglass. I’d rather not find myself with my head on that execution block, and it’s beginning to look like too many people know about me already.”

“While no-one knows about Lady Helen.”

Merlin stared at Gaius, surprised. “You’re really worried about this, aren’t you?”

“I’m concerned, Merlin. there have never been any rumours about Lady Helen belonging to the Hourglass before this. And while Camelot might need a Queen, Gwen has not yet reached her adult strength, nor is she in any way ready to rule. Uther may not be your choice of ruler for Camelot, but for the moment, he provides stability.”

"Look, I don't want Uther dead, Gaius, but I'm not convinced that there's anything in it." Merlin wasn't comfortable with the lady, but that was more because of her knowledge of him than anything else. "Lady Helen might just not want it known that she's a Black Widow. When she threatens Uther, _then_ I'll take action."

Or not. There was no law against murder among the Blood, although when a male died in service to a Queen, a price could be asked for that death.

"In the meantime..."

"In the meantime," Gaius said with a sigh, "you'd better work on that illusion spell. And it’s probably best if you’re not serving the table while the Lady’s singing. Out of sight, out of mind."

Merlin breathed a sigh of relief as Gaius turned back to his books. The old man was clearly dissatisfied with Merlin's inaction, but he wasn't going to make a fuss about it. Which was just as well. The last thing he needed was a fuss made over him.

*-*-*-*

It was all very well for Gaius to say that he shouldn’t serve at the celebrations; Sorcha was the one organising the rosters and routines, and she had Merlin down as not only circulating the drinks and nibbles at the start of the night, but also helping refill goblets as they went dry.

“So much for keeping out of sight,” he muttered as he took the tray from the hands of the kitchen staff handing them out.

“What was that?” Gwen asked as she caught up to him on the stairs.

“Oh, nothing,” he said, glancing back at her with a frown. She was carrying a tray that seemed far too large for her. “Are you sure you can carry that? Do you want to swap?”

She frowned, and turned her body away from him as though she suspected he was about to take her tray off her. “I’m perfectly capable of carrying this.”

“I was just offering...” Merlin hesitated, remembering a street down in the town, and a young Queen arguing with a young Warlord Prince.

“What’s that smile for?” Gwen asked.

Merlin took a moment to answer, both to try to hide the amusement in his voice, and to avoid bumping into other servants passing out on their way back down to the kitchens. “Oh, nothing... Nothing at all..."

He walked into the great hall, brightly lit with candles and torches, the great iron candelabra hanging over the central space between the tables.

All the servants had been given specific instructions about where to put their dishes. Merlin carefully detoured off towards the table where his plate of roasted vegetables had been assigned - and avoided going anywhere near Prince Arthur, who was laughing in a corner with his aristo friends, but spared the time to smirk in Merlin’s general direction.

“Watch that,” said one of the serving men a little snippily as he put the dish down. “Don’t just dump the plate like it’s a load of dirty washing. We’re short-handed as it is since Demelza vanished this afternoon.”

“Vanished?”

“As in, went to deliver a fruit basket to Lady Helen’s room and then ran off,” said the man, his tone still brusque as he headed for the door. “Probably meeting up with that guard she’s seeing. She said he was getting off in the midafternoon... It’s fine if you’ve got someone to use as an excuse for skipping your duties but the rest of us actually have to work...”

Merlin barely listened to the rest of the serving man’s rant, caught up in his own thoughts.

So a maid had disappeared this afternoon after going to see Lady Helen? Merlin grimaced to himself.

He'd been listening to Gaius too long - let the old man's fears affect him. The girl had probably just gone to meet a lover and the timing was mere coincidence. There didn't have to be anything sinister in Lady Helen's illusion spell, just a Black Widow's fear of being found out in Camelot. Perfectly understandable...

Merlin paused at the entryway out to the kitchen corridor, letting other servants pass with their platters. Then he briefly forgot about platters and missing servants as the Lady Morgana walked by in a wine-coloured gown that clung to her body and flowed around her like water...

Darkness have mercy, but she was magnificent!

*_Merlin_,* came a familiar voice on Purple Dusk spear thread, *_don't gawk_.*

He wasn't gawking. He was just...admiring...

Merlin hurried out to take another platter. But the serving man’s words stuck in his head, augmented by Gaius' concern of earlier. _The Lady Helen is not, nor ever has been, a Black Widow._

On the way back up to the great hall, he made a decision. All right. He'd put the platter down, then go up to Lady Helen's rooms and look around a little. He doubted there'd be much to find - the Lady was perfectly capable of vanishing anything that she didn't wish people to see, and if she was a Black Widow, she could hide anything unusual with a small illusion web. Still, it would ease his mind, reassure him that there was nothing in Gaius' fears.

By now there were plenty of nobles gathered in the room, waiting for Prince Uther to turn up and start the festivities. Prince Arthur was holding court with his aristo friends, loud and noisy as such people could so easily be.

Merlin made a point of taking the long way around the hall, carefully avoiding Arthur. He wouldn’t put it past the Warlord Prince to waylay him for sport.

"What are you doing, Merlin?" It _would_ be Gwen who caught him just at the door. "You look like you're hiding from someone."

"I'm not hiding from anyone!" He began in protest.

"Well, you look like it." Gwen eyed him a moment longer before she turned and surveyed the room until her gaze came to rest on Morgana. " Doesn't Morgana look beautiful?"

"She does stand out in the crowd..." Merlin watched as the young Black Widow gravitated gently over to where Arthur was standing with his aristo friends, and grimaced at the way Arthur preened, as though it was his right to be standing beside the most beautiful witch in the room.

"They look good together," Gwen murmured from beside him. "I hope they'll make a match of it someday."

"What?" Merlin looked at her, startled and alarmed. "Really?"

"Well, Prince Uther hopes so. That's why she's still here rather than back in her family's estate in Tintagel."

Merlin snorted. "And wish Arthur on her?"

"She could do worse, you know. He'll be the Warlord Prince of Camelot someday."

"Warlord arse of Camelot, more likely," Merlin muttered. "Besides, surely a Territory like Camelot needs a Queen again."

Gwen glanced at him, but didn't seem to see anything odd in his statement. "Well, I suppose. But Camelot isn't so bad under Uther's rule. I mean, the village Queens still Gift the land each spring, so it's not as though the harvests are shorted..."

She didn't see it - didn't get it. And why would she? Merlin reminded himself that Gwen had been in Camelot since she was a child - possibly even before she went through the ceremony to receive her Birthright Jewels. Why would she think that Camelot needed a Queen when all she'd known was hard work and service to the Pendragons?

"I guess I'm just not used to the idea of males ruling," he muttered.

"I guess not." Gwen gave him a slightly pitying look. "If you're going to stay in Camelot you'd better get used to it. It's well known that Uther wants Arthur to succeed him."

"Heaven help us all."

She nudged him. "You should be careful of saying those kind of things, Merlin. Someone might hear you."

Not likely, since he'd thrown an aural shield around them as soon as they started talking. But Merlin appreciated that she was concerned.

"You know," he said, conversationally, "I figured you to be the kind to go for the muscly warrior type."

Her reaction was instinctive and strong. "What? No! I much prefer an ordinary type of male - like you."

Merlin snorted. "And I'm so ordinary?"

"I mean, not *_you_* you, of course. Just a normal, everyday male." Once again, her cheeks developed that faintly pink tone beneath the warm brown, and Merlin grinned as she stammered out her disclaimer. "Anyway," she said, more firmly. "I'd rather have someone kind-hearted and considerate. Not someone who thinks he's the Darkness' gift to witches."

Merlin yelped as she poked him in the shoulder, accidentally targeting one of yesterday's bruises. "Ow!" A quick glance around showed that not too many had noticed the exchange - most of them too busy watching the Prince and the Lady Morgana - probably with the same speculations that Gwen had been discussing just a moment before. "What was that for?"

"For smirking at me like that," came the retort. "And for not telling me who you're hiding from!"

"I'm not hiding, I'm just..." He threw up his hands in exasperation. "Never mind. I'm going now. And see if I tell you what I'm doing ever again!"

His mother would have said it was childish, but he felt better for the small retort. As it was, he could feel her eyes on him all the way back to the doorway, and he slipped out into the corridor, and quickly cast a sight shield around him so he wouldn't be seen and told to return to his duties.

Up the stairs and through the halls, up along the fine stone balconies that led past the guest rooms, Merlin moved quickly and with all his senses alert. He was growing a bit more used to the layout of the castle, but it was still a little confusing.

The Lady's door was Green-locked and shielded - simple enough for the Ebon Grey to get through, and he passed himself through door and shield without so much as a ripple.

On the other side, the room seemed much as he'd seen it earlier - the dresser and its creams and paints, although the dress on the bed was different, and the bottle on the table was empty beside the slim wooden frame that held...

...a delicate tracery of spidersilk threads, bound about and again by power, anchored by a tiny Green Jewel chip that hung suspended in the middle of the tangled web.

A Black Widow's tangled web, sitting out in plain view of the door and any servant that might... Wait.

Merlin squinted at the frame that looked far too fragile to hold the kind of power that the Black Widow was channelling. He could see it quite clearly, but now that he studied it, he could see that a sight shield was twined into the web, anchored by the Green Jewel - which no-one without a darker Jewel would be able to sense...

He glanced over his shoulder at the door, firmly closed and hopefully to remain so while the Lady Helen performed for the pleasure of Prince Uther and the nobles of Camelot...

Then he heard it.

It rang through his psychic senses like an axe-blade through wood, a sound of unearthly beauty and terrifying power: witchsong.

It was said that among the Blood, long ago witches had sung their spells, imbuing their music with a power beyond even music's usual influence on the ear. The Widow Viviane had told Merlin it was a lost art, something that was known of, but not known.

*_It was believed that one could resist witchsong, but it would sap strength in the resisting. Few would have the power to counter it, and even fewer the will these days_.*

Merlin could feel the power of this witchsong, calling to him. *_Sleep. Rest. The day has been long and your head is weary. Lie down and let the darkness weight your lids.._.*

He shook it off, and reached for the tangled web in the frame.

The world around him lurched, twisting all around him, and when he looked up, he was no longer in Lady Helen's room.

Above him, the sky was a dark and murky grey, roiling with bitter grey clouds that tinged green at their edges, seeded with icy rain that he could almost feel falling down upon him in this place that was no place - a dreamscape that the Blood called the Twisted Kingdom, and which the landens called madness.

Merlin had been here before - although previously always of his own will. He’d come here by choice to walk the roads that sanity could not comprehend, to see what lay in the future. That was the training of a Black Widow; to walk the paths of the Twisted Kingdom in search of the truth.

The truth here was inescapable. With every breath he took, the air tasted of bitterness, a mother’s wail of grief for a child lost. With every step he took, the ground shook with the towering hunger for revenge. With every moment that passed, Merlin could feel the crushing vitriol of the Green web which had brought him here - a wisping sense of something fluttering around his mind, trying to dig in its hooks of madness. He was immune to it, Ebon Grey to the Green; but anyone who wore Jewels lighter than the Green would be susceptible to this spell.

A soft sob dragged his attention from the splintering sky to the bleak plain around him, empty and featureless but for what he'd thought at first glance was a rock. When it shifted, he realised it was a woman - the serving girl who'd vanished during her duties that afternoon, her mind lost to the tangled web's madness.

"Hey, are you all right...?" Merlin crouched down beside him, his hand on her shoulder to turn her over, then stumbled back.

Her face was contorted in a rictus of pain, and her eyes were cloudy and unseeing. He flung an Ebon-Grey shield around them both. It should keep the worst of the Twisted Kingdom from pressing in upon her, although from the look in her eyes, he doubted she would notice the surcease of its pressure. Then he flung another one around himself specifically as the film drained from her eyes, and she lunged at him. Her hands gripped his arms, cold as ice.

"She said to put it on the empty table, but when I did, there was something there and it pulled me in. I didn't know!" The words poured from her mouth, and Merlin put an arm around her shoulders, giving into his instincts to protect. She wasn't a Queen or anyone he knew, but she was a witch in need of help and his training required him to give service.

He could still feel the Witchsong, a thready, distant melody, but he didn't have to give in to it. He could feel the spell all around him - the illusion web woven, not to conceal her caste, but to change her appearance to look like the real Lady Helen.

Gaius had been right in the end; this wasn't the Lady Helen, and she was here for no good purpose.

Merlin raised one hand in a gesture like brushing away cobwebs that were in front of his face.

Around them the tint of Green tore like ripped gauze, the Green Jewel chip hanging in the air before him exploding into dust, and the illusion web with it. Merlin felt the shock ripple through the ground, through him, felt the sudden clutching fury and despair of the Widow as her spells rebounded on her and drained her of power in the backlash.

"How are we going to get out of here?"

The chambermaid was still holding onto him, her fingers digging into his arm. With every moment that passed, she seemed more lucid, although the horrors she had seen here  would remain with her long after. She'd need a Healer at least, maybe even a Black Widow's tending to deal with this time in the Twisted Kingdom, forced into madness against her will.

Merlin glanced down at her, then closed his eyes and performed the mental twist that took him from the roads of the Twisted Kingdom back to the land of the sane, living realms.

Back to Lady Helen's empty room, the torn web on the table.

"Stay here," he told the woman as he slammed his shielded hand through the remnants of the tangled web on the table. It shouldn't have any power left, but he didn't want to take any chances. "And don't touch anything!"

He passed through the door at a sprint, running for the great hall, where he could feel the psychic ripples of shock and anger just beginning. The courtiers were beginning to wake from the sleep that had clouded their minds, and somehow Merlin doubted that they'd be up to dealing with a Green-Jewelled Black Widow.

Barrelling down the aristo stairs rather than the servants' corridor, Merlin tried to think of what ‘Lady Helen’ planned with all this.

_An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, and a son for a son!_

A mother’s aching grief and her terrible desire for revenge.

A man executed, his blood added to the fear and suffering of the execution stone.

A caste outlawed, the Widows banned from their teachings, from their tangled webs, from their potions.

A Realm shattered, splintering, coming apart as the Territories tore themselves to pieces.

_The tangled webs show true: without you, there is no Arthur. Without Arthur, there is no Albion. Without Albion, the Blood will fade from this realm, lost forever._

With his breath coming short, Merlin skidded down the last few steps of the aristo stairs in time to see the Black Widow reach for something at her belt - an ornamental knife that wasn’t so ornamental. Her gaze was fixed on one thing, her focus on a single person.

Across the room, Merlin saw Gwen standing behind Lady Morgana, both of them blinking with surprise as they tried to work out what had happened.

And there was Arthur, standing mere metres away, staring at the knife that gleamed in the Black Widow's hand, white bone and cold steel as she drew her arm back to throw. Then Merlin was lunging forward, and there was velvet under his hands, warm male flesh, metal studs pressing into his palms, and all the resistant weight of a shocked Warlord Prince as Merlin yanked him away from the knife.

They landed hard, even as the bone-knife thudded into the padded back of Arthur's chair. Already winded from the run down, Merlin grunted as the other man's weight slammed into him, whooshing all the air out of his lungs and bruising his breastbone.

Merlin felt the Widow's psychic attack, and threw up Ebon-Grey shields against the onslaught. He wished he could spread them far enough to protect the others in the room, but he only had so much strength and her focus was on Arthur.

He hoped that at least Gwen or the Lady Morgana knew to shield themselves--

The twisting tangle of a spell came at his shields, latching onto them and trying to drain his power. The Green would drain itself dry before the Ebon Grey gave way, but she was not to know that.

*Shield!* He yelled on a White psychic thread - the lightest of all the Jewel strengths, it would be heard by anyone who had an ability to shield.

Maybe it wouldn’t stop the Black Widow's attack, but it might deflect it, just a little.

Then Merlin felt the scatter of power across his shields and knew it wouldn't be enough. She'd hooked a tangled web into her attack, designed to suck the Jewel strength out of whatever shield met its attack. Around him, he could hear gasps as those who'd obeyed his instruction found themselves being drained, maybe even broken when their Jewels lost their reserves and shattered...

He tried to thrust back, tried to send back a blast of power to distract her, but couldn't. The Ebon Grey would outlast the Green, but as long as she held his focus with her tangled web, he couldn't do anything.

And his Queen was out there. Gwen, whose Jewel strength might not be strong enough to outlast the Green, who might be broken without ever even seeing her Virgin Night, her adult strength...

Above him, Arthur tried to scramble away, and Merlin yelped as the Warlord Prince instinctively twisted to avoid another Green-jewelled blast and his elbow landed in Merlin's belly.

*Get off me!* He snapped at the Warlord Prince, ignoring the sudden snarling anger that met his demand. Arthur Pendragon and whatever destiny they faced together was in the future; Merlin's Queen needed him now, and he would break whomever he had to break to protect her.

He tore at the psychic hooks of the draining web using the skills he'd learned in the Hourglass, got them free. They reached for his shields once more...and hooked into something else - something Merlin couldn't quite sense, so delicately did it hover at the limits of his psychic consciousness...

He shook his head to clear it. _Look at that later, deal with her now!_

The spell came easily to him, another lesson learned at Lady Viviane's hand. _Sometimes you will need to attack and not just defend in service. I cannot make a warrior of you, but I can make you a spear suitable for one cast through the heart of your enemy._

Merlin wove its threads into the burst of power he directed at the Widow, and cast it forth.

He knew the moment it slid through her shields, the Green no match for the Ebon Grey. He felt her struggle as the threads of the spell surrounded her, collapsed in on her, shattered her mind, and broke her web.

Even as she fell, Merlin knew her to be dead.

*-*-*-*

"There are plenty of young men in the town who would love to be assigned as Prince Arthur's manservant," Gaius consoled later that evening.

Merlin grimaced as he watched Gaius put away the herbs and other dosages he'd used on the panicked and injured courtiers after the evening's events. "I can't imagine why." For a few moments, Prince Uther's insistence on paying a debt had been gratifying, making his pronouncement that Merlin would be given a position in the royal household as Arthur's personal servant all the more bitter. He wasn't feeling particularly charitable towards either Pendragon this evening.

"A position in the royal household entitles you to meals, board, and a clothing supply, as well as wages. When you work for the Prince, there'll also be bonuses in the forms of food and cast-offs, maybe even marks..."

Merlin snorted. "Which would be fine if the Prince wasn't such an arse!"

In stark contrast to his father, Arthur had been very ungrateful at having his life saved - and no more pleased to have Merlin assigned as his servant than Merlin was to be assigned. But all his protestations hadn't changed his father's mind one whit, and the Prince had sulked his way through what remained of the meal, looking like nothing so much as a thwarted child.

"I'll kill him within a week, you know."

Gaius snorted. "Try not to sound like the prospect enthuses you _quite_ so much, Merlin. There may be no law against murder among the Blood, but that doesn't mean there isn't a price to be paid. That Black Widow didn't seem to be working with anyone, but if she had been, you'd be facing her co-conspirators as well."

"She wasn't." Merlin thought of the empty room and the web that dragged into the Twisted Kingdom. "How's the maidservant? Demelza?"

"She'll need a release from her duties for a while. I imagine it's not a pleasant thing to be dragged into the Twisted Kingdom against your will."

“No,” Merlin murmured, “it’s not. But she’ll survive. Her mind wasn’t shattered.” And her Yellow Jewels remained intact - along with everyone else in the room.

Whatever - _whoever _\- had taken on the hooks of the Black Widow’s tangled web, they’d given Merlin time to act. But when the Widow died and her spells with her, there was no hint of any other spells, no sign that anyone else had been attacked at all.

And Merlin hadn’t been able to ask the questions he wanted, because to do so would have revealed that he had fought with Hourglass craft.

Uther was happy to think that the Widow had killed herself rather than be taken by his guards; neither Gaius nor Merlin had felt it necessary to disabuse him of the notion.

“There was someone else working in that room, Gaius. Someone that I couldn’t sense.”

“Well, whoever they were, they were on your side, Merlin.”

“Maybe.” And maybe they were just waiting to see what he would do.

A knock on the door of the chamber had both of them staring.

Gwen peeped around the door. "Hello?”

“Gwen.” Merlin sat up at the sight of her.

“Am I intruding?"

"My dear child, you are never intruding," Gaius said with a smile. "Come in and commiserate with Merlin at his terrible fortune to be assigned a position in the Pendragon household!"

"Yes, such a terrible thing to work for the Pendragons!” She rolled her eyes as she came and sat down.

"Perhaps not if you’re working for Lady Morgana!" But Merlin smiled as Gwen sat down beside him and glanced over her. She’d seemed fine in the great hall afterwards, staying close to Morgana as they watched the Black Widow’s body taken away to be buried in the pauper’s grave. "You weren't injured?"

“Not even a scratch. I don’t think she looked at our side of the table at all - she was entirely focused on Prince Arthur.” Her hands twined around each other, and she rested them on the table. “Are you all right?”

“Oh, I’m fine.” Merlin dismissed the renewed aches of his shoulders and back - after the last few days he was going to be extremely sore. “She wasn’t trying to stick a knife in me, you know.”

“No, of course she wasn’t. But, I mean, you were in the middle of it all, so...” She regarded him critically, as though she didn't trust his self-evaluation. “I’m glad you’re all right.”

Merlin smiled at her. “Me, too.”

“And it’s not so bad being a Pendragon servant,” she said with a little shake of her head, as though she couldn’t believe his ignorance.

“So Gaius keeps telling me.”

“You deserved a better reward though. What you did was very brave.”

The pleasure of Uther’s indebtedness to him was nothing to this. Merlin felt himself flush under her earnest look, caught the faint smirk on Gaius’ face as the old man kept putting his medicines away. He ducked his head, both embarrassed and exhilarated by the praise of his Queen, and mumbled, “It was what anyone would have done. Just duty, I suppose.”

Gwen tilted her head a little, her eyes narrowed slightly. “Maybe. But there are a many in Camelot who wouldn’t have done that duty.” And with no embarrassment, she reached over and squeezed his hand. “You’re a good man, Merlin Emrys.”

He looked over at Gwen - at his Queen - and remembered the dragon’s words.

_You must shape the Pendragon into the leader he is meant to be. The tangled webs speak true; without you, there is no Arthur. Without Arthur, there is no Albion. Without Albion, the Blood will fade from this Realm, lost forever._

And Merlin made a decision.

Maybe it _was_ his destiny to guide Albion into being. So Merlin would do what he could to shape Arthur if that was his destiny. But his service to the Queen who sat beside him full of trust and belief would be of his own volition, not because someone told him it was what he was supposed to do.

He would serve Arthur for his Queen’s sake, because she believed Merlin was a good man.

A price. A decision. A choice.

The price of service.

A Prince's decision.

Merlin’s choice.

**Author's Note:**

> Another Black Jewels crossover, another epic story begun! Thank you so much to those who encouraged me along the way, but especially to my beta, grav_ity, and my artist, azarsuerte. I am also incredibly grateful to the people who regularly leave me comments on my fic: you keep me writing, loves.
> 
> This is the first story in a planned quartet for a series that Azar named "Jewels Of Albion". The four books are "Prince of Camelot" (Merlin's story), "Camelot's Widow" (Morgana's story), "A Warlord Prince's Price" (Arthur's story), and "A Queen For Albion" (Gwen's story). Keep an eye out for them later this year!


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